


Lost

by MeganGrace



Category: Original Work
Genre: Ambiguous Gender, Angst, Depression Hinted at, Gen, Grief, IT'S VERY SAD, Just a story about being sad, Just in case you've lost a parent, Loss, Orphan - Freeform, POV First Person, So much angst, Survivor Guilt, Warning: Parental Death, You have been warned about the sadness this story holds, i cried, it made me sad, warning: car accident, who knows - Freeform, why do I do this to myself?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-13
Updated: 2020-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:01:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23157499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MeganGrace/pseuds/MeganGrace
Summary: It’s hard to describe how I feel. How I feel. How . . . I . . . feel.How do I feel?Angry? No.Sad? No.Happy? No.Nothing? Yeah. I guess nothing pretty much sums it up.
Kudos: 1





	Lost

**Author's Note:**

> March 13, 2020

It’s hard to describe how I feel. How I feel. How . . . I . . . feel. 

How do I feel?

Angry? No.

Sad? No. 

Happy? No. 

Nothing? Yeah. I guess nothing pretty much sums it up. 

I know that I’m supposed to feel something, but I can’t. It’s like my brain has turned off. Everyone around me tells me it’s okay to cry. That it’s natural. But I can’t. 

It’s not like I never loved them. I did. I do. I just . . . can’t. It’s like my brain has shut off. 

When the car was hit, I felt fear. When they wouldn’t respond, I was scared. I was crying. I was begging for a reply, for anything. 

When the firemen got us out, I kept crying for them, reaching for them. But they were too far away, and I could tell that they were long gone. Yet, I kicked and cried until I passed out from exhaustion. 

Eventually, I came to. I was in the hospital. They said I was lucky. I was mostly unscathed. It could have been worse. My grandma is the relative that lives closest, so she was here already. But I heard that the rest of my extended family was coming. Even that good-for-nothing grandpa that had never been there for my mom. 

When I asked for my parents, grandma started crying. I knew that my worst fears had been realized. I knew I had been left alone. Then I asked to be left alone. Grandma was reluctant, but she caved. 

The nurse came in to check on me a few minutes after. I asked her who hit us, and if that person was okay. The nurse said it had been a man and his family. His kids apparently had been fighting, and he turned to yell at them, when everything happened. Apparently his wife and baby were the only ones who made it out. 

I wanted to be happy, that the person who took my family from me was gone. But I wasn’t. I almost wished it was a drunk driver. That would have been better. I could imagine he didn’t have a life, that he was some loser. But this man, he  _ had _ a family, and he had left them behind. 

I wanted to cry, but I couldn’t. I just laid down and said I wanted to rest. I didn’t see the nurse, but I knew she was looking at me with sympathy. Instead, she left and closed the door behind her. I fell asleep. 

Everything was rushed after that. My family came, everyone in tears. Even my crappy grandpa. But I couldn’t cry. I don’t know why. I just wanted to be left alone. I didn’t want to talk to anyone. I wanted to curl up in a ball and wish everything away. I wished that I had died with them. 

The doctor had told my family that I would be in shock, and to give me space and time to process my grief. Survivor’s guilt. I heard that be thrown around. I just pretended that I was asleep. Everything was easier unconscious. 

When I was dreaming, they were alive. They were back. We were happy. It made being awake harder. 

Yet, whenever I thought I was going to cry, I never did. It’s like I physically couldn’t, no matter how much I tried to. 

Even when we put them in the ground, when I tossed dirt onto their . . . coffins. I . . . I couldn’t. The tears wouldn’t come. It made me feel heartless, like a terrible child. What kind of child couldn’t even cry for their parents? 

I just felt even more numb. Planning the funeral had been exhausting, but dealing with everyone was harder. I just wanted to go home. But I couldn’t. It wasn’t my home. Not anymore. Not really. Not without them. 

Grandma, selfless grandma, offered to move into the house with me. To help me. But I said no. We needed to sell the place. I couldn’t explain that it was easier than trying to live there and expecting them to be back as if nothing had happened. 

Packing was hard. I sorted through all of my stuff, and I knew most of it would go into storage. Going through my parent’s stuff felt . . . private. Like I was invading their privacy. I wanted to take everything with me. All of my mom’s dresses, my dad’s ties, their items on their bedside tables. Everything felt essential. I felt like none of it could go into storage. I didn’t want any of it to dust, to stay cramped in storage as if they weren’t important items that had belonged to them. 

The photographs are what broke me. I saw an album and I picked it up. When I first opened it, it was them as kids. 

My dad was smiling brightly, eyes closed, and my mom looked annoyed with a happy smirk she couldn’t hide. I laughed a little, touching the picture. It was so much like them. I flipped the page, and saw more pictures of them as kids. I kept flipping, as if I was flipping through their lives. Them as kids, going to their first day of school, middle school, high school, prom, graduation, college, their . . . marriage photos. I kept going and saw them graduate again, getting jobs, their old apartments, and our house. I laughed, a lump in my throat. In every one Dad was always so happy and Mom acted like she was forced to be there. But I could tell Mom was happy. Even in some of their wedding photos, she acted grumpy, yet she never looked happier. 

I saw the tears fall on the album when I flipped a photo and saw my mom, exhausted, yet smiling brightly holding . . . me. I started flipping, tears strolling down my face, seeing myself grow up. Me having my firsts with them by my side. My first bike ride, my first day of school, my first track meet, my first best friend, my first girlfriend, everything. It was there, and they were there too, in front of or behind the camera. 

I flipped to the last page. My graduation. They were there, either side of me, smiling and proud, even Mom. I acted embarrassed, but I was insanely happy. This was the last photo. We didn’t have time to go to dinner that day, so we agreed to that upcoming weekend. We had been going to the restaurant, someplace not too fancy but nicer than we were used to, when . . . 

I clutched the album to my chest and I started sobbing uncontrollably. I couldn’t hold it back anymore. They were gone, and all I had were photos. None of my photos from here on out were going to include them in any capacity. And that broke me in a way nothing else had. The thought, the knowledge of this broke me. 

I wanted them back, please give me my parents back. Please, please, I want them back. I miss my mommy and daddy. Please, please God, give them back. I don’t want to do anything else without them. I want my mommy and daddy. I miss them. Please, please bring them back. They can’t be gone, they can’t. Please, please, please.

My grandma shook me awake hours later. She had a soft look on her face, and I could see she was about to cry too. 

“I’m gonna tell you something, my mother used to tell me,” she starts, smiling sadly as she opens up the photo album. 

“She used to tell me photographs were great and unique because they captured a moment forever. No matter what, you’ll have these moments forever. Even if your friends have moved away, you’ll have a part of them with you in photos,” she paused, lost in thought. 

“She told me that the photos we had of my great nana was like she was still with us. That, no matter what happened, whether she was alive or not, as long as we had pictures to hold onto, she was still here with us.”

I clutched the photo album closer to me. 

“This is going with us for sure,” I said, cracking a smile, even as the tears streamed down my face. 

My grandma laughed, hugging me from the side. 

“For sure.”


End file.
